And Indeed There Will Be Time
by Auua Ytjoml
Summary: All he needs is a little more time. All he needs is a little more time and everything will be ok. Slight AU from end of Season 5. No slash.
1. Let us go then You and I

"Arthur! ARTHUR!"

The young warlock kneels not feet from the lake of Avalon, his king and friend clutched in his arms.

"ARTHUR!"

He begs the dying man, the lake, the Sidhe, the world. Don't let him die. He can't die. He won't die. He can't. He can't. He just needs more time. Just a little more time and he can save him. He knows he can.

"NO! ARTHUR!"

And just like that, time slows, just as it had on that first day in Camelot and so many times since. The leaves stall, their frantic tossing played out in miniscule fragments of time. The wind has not ceased to blow and yet none can feel its movement for they move as slowly as it.

"Not. Yet. Not Yet."

Time slows even more. Now the warlock can feel the tug, the resistance. They pass yet time does not and he's never held it for so long before but there is no spell just a will. A will for his king to live. A plea for more time.

"This will not happen."

A great wrenching in his heart causes the scruffy, grief covered body to arch. Soundlessly he cries out for the last time.

"ARTHUR!"

Time stills.

Then with a blow that seems to strike all and none forward progress sweeps back across the world.

A pitcher half fallen from the Queen's fingers shatters against the cold stone as Percival lays a hand of solidarity on her back.

A flame ignites in the physician's fireplace from the spark cast by Gius' magic. He has promised a supper waiting for his boy when he returns. His favorite supper.

A mighty roar enters the air and a set of wings continues their downward sweep as the last dragon races towards the last of his human kin.

On the silver shores of Avalon a bird calls out to its mate. The gently rolling waves break against the shore. A breeze ruffles the grass smoothing out the impressions two bodies had made there. The king and his mage are gone.


	2. Evening spread out Against the Sky

A lorry rumbles past.

The sun sinking below evening clouds does not go unnoticed by the aging Seanch_i_ as he makes the recently familiar walk from the pub where he has been employed the past week to the cottage whose owner had opened his home to the traveling storyteller.

He pauses briefly as he always does passing the lake of Avalon. The people, the history here makes his own work easier. When the places woven into the very fabric of his tales are the very same as his audience see on a daily basis, even the most stodgy of men can glimpse the wonders that he strives to show them with only his words and his voice.

Making his way past and around the metal road strips meant to guide errant drivers back onto the road he is about to continue his journey along the verge when a tightening in his chest causes him to gasp.

For a moment everything seems clearer as if his rummy eyes had suddenly retaken the keenness of their youth. Then the slight haze descends once more over his world and everything clicks back into place more alive than before.

His gaze returns from the grass to the lake and the second surprise has him scrambling through the bushes and down the down to the lake's edge. Where none had been there before, now two young men lay in a still pile.

He reaches their sides and roles the slighter of the two off of his companion so that they lay side by side facing the darkening sky.

The Seanch_i_ lowers his ear to the boy's chest. Surly, but steadily the 'thub-dub, thub-dub' sends a reassuring chorus through the old man's ears. Then he turns the other man. He is sturdier; broader of shoulder and stronger of arm, but what catches the eye is his finely woven chain mail and gleaming sword.

"Who are you?"

Putting aside questions for the moment the storyteller presses two fingers to the man's jugular. For a moment he thinks it is too late. Then a slight pressure on his fingers and another several seconds later tell him differently. The pulse is there, erratic at best, but still there.

Throwing his satchel and bag down at their sides he rummages through the latter until he pulls out a cellphone.

"9-9-9. Pick up please."

It rings once, twice, and then a voice picks up. "Hello. This is the emergency services center. How may I help you?"

"I am at the south end of Llyn Cefri on Lon Sardis road off of B5109. There are two men with me. Unconsious. One of them appears to be seriously injured."

". . . Alright. An ambulance is on its way. In what way is he injured?"

"There is blood on his torso. I can't see the wound due to his clothing. He seems to be having difficulty breathing and his pulse is erratic."

"Alright. Does he have a jacket on? Something to keep him warm?"

"Not exactly. He's got several layers on but..."

"Yes?"

In that moment the old Seanch_i _makes a decision. Born of his many years immersed in the myth and lore of his land and the other isles making up the now United Kingdoms, it coils in him comfortably and exhilarates. He will help these young men. They are more than they seem and he will hide that from the world until they are ready.

"-But they don't seem to be keeping him warm."

"Alright. Do you have a blanket or something that you can give him?"

"My coat."

"Thank you. Just lay it over him. Don't move him."

He places the phone off to the side.

"Sorry friend. This is likely going to hurt."

But the man doesn't make a sound as he is wrestled out of his armor. Sometimes the storyteller uses his knife to cut through leather straps that he doesn't know how to undo. Once it and the sword is in a pile hidden under some bushes a hundred yards off, the Seanch_i _shrugs of his long coat and tucks it around the still body, before picking up the phone.

"Hello? Are you still there? Hello?" The operator's voice is calm but he can detect the hint of worry in her even tones.

"I am sorry. It took longer than I expected."

A gentle sigh of relief. "That's alright. The ambulance should be there any minute now."

As if on cue a siren fills the air. He stumbles up to the road to flag it down and soon the two strange young men are loaded in the back.

"Is it all right if I come with you?"

The driver hesitates.

"I feel somewhat responsible for them and he-" a gesture to the blond- "-still has the use of my coat."

With a shrug the nurse acquiesces and hops into the front cab with his partner. The drive to the hospital is quite, punctuated only by the gentle beep of the heart monitor and the murmur of voices from the front.

Arrival at the Cefni Hospital shatters the false calm.

"We need him in a CAT scan immediately!"

"I need an O2 mask!"

"Prepare the ER."

Before he can adjust to the bustle of his surroundings the two men, his two wards now, at least for the moment, are whisked away leaving him to take a seat in the waiting room.

Hours pass. Finally a young nurse approaches him.

"Hello. Are you the man who called in 999 for the two men who came in unconscious earlier?"

"Yes I am." He makes to stand and the girl offers an arm which he declines. "How are they?"

"The one is fine. He had several cuts and abrasions but nothing life threatening. His biggest injury seems to be plain exhaustion."

She pauses.

"And the other?"

"He is in a recovery room. He had a piece of metal nearly embedded in his heart. As it is, they managed to remove it but he will have a long recovery ahead of him."

"Do you have any idea what could have caused the injury?"

"Little. It appears that he was stabbed by a long blade, a stake or some kind of building material perhaps? Speculation is that part of it broke off inside of him."

"Hmm. "

"Sir, there are a few questions I must ask you."

He nods. "Of course."

She asks the standards. He tells her what he knows, leaving out the armor and then she asks if he would like to see the lesser injured of the two? She tells him she's technically not supposed to do this but she can tell how worried he is about them, despite being a stranger.

She leads him up stairs and down a long white hallway. "He's in there. I can give you ten minutes."

He enters cautiously. The boy is laid out under clean white sheets. His face is peaceful, just a hint of a roguish smile hovering over his lips. He places a hand on the gently rising chest taking comfort in its easy motion.  
"I don't know who you are, young man, but you have my help. I feel that some great destiny awaits you."

When the Seanch_i_ leaves with a nod of thanks to the young nurse he leaves behind a crumpled note buried in the boot of the young man.

It reads _I can help you/Find me in Bodffordd near the Lake of Avalon/Your friend/Muiran Collins._

A week later the warlock Merlin opens his eyes for the first time in 1500 years.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N - I realize that the location I chose for Avalon in northern Wales is nowhere near Glastonbury Abbey, England nor Caerleon, Wales. But Glastonbury doesn't have a lake, and Caerleon was the supposed location of King Arthur's castle, not Avalon.

Also realize I am taking some liberties with the location I have chosen. While some things are very real some are not. For example the Cefni Hospital is a care center for the elderly, not the fully equipped hospital I portray it as.

I may or may not continue with this. The primary drive for this story was the idea that Merlin removed himself and Arthur from time until medicinal practices were advanced enough to remove the sword shard manually as magic was not capable of doing so due to the sword's magic. Beyond that I don't really have a plan for what would happen next so I'll leave it lie for the now.

I hope you like it! Please review.


End file.
